wuding | a home.

a home.

They fall together, like fresh snow off the mountaintop: first, in measured, patient, cultivating reunion after an extended dinner at their inn. Then, with passion. Then, syrupy and slow, with morning. In a rare, turn, after bathing, Lan Wangji denies himself the rigors and discipline of morning and coaxes them back abed, to hold his lover throughout his rest near sunrise, until halfway to midday.

He stirs them, inevitably, when the blinding bright white of the day overwhelms, and they must set for the road to make good pace to Cloud Recesses while still enjoying their stroll. They arrive, meandering, in the depths of a trickling, golden afternoon, when much of the clan is distracted with the latest lecture of a visiting hermit — they say, an aspiring immortal — and neither Uncle nor Sizhui can be politely parted from his wisdom. First, a brief stop with Liang. Secondly, for Lan Wangji, yet slowed by his fading wounds and bruises, to test the recovery of his disciples.

Lastly, facing the dregs of an afternoon together with no duties, no assignments, no occupation — curiosity wins over. With the packed necessities of a quick meal in his qiankun pouch, he steers Wei Ying to walk the winding, if peaceful path toward the peripheral territories, past the liminal, isolated quietude of the jingshi and into the periphery of Lan Wangji's inherited grounds.

A short walk, yet they may have breached the threshold of a brave new world. He had chosen the space for its proximity to river water, cunning, lively spikes of rice stabbing the field, alongside feral flowers. Already, the builders and architects have marked a path to make a road, but they have yet to set down wood or stone for steps. These, he knows, are still young days for their home, Wei Ying's house, rising on strong, sprawling bones that stretch out over a considerable territory: a number of rooms, some superfluous, including an isolated study for Wei Ying's pleasure and a music chamber. A large kitchen, for all much of the house yet misses its roof. A segment for the archery post Lan Wangji had bidden. The house, designed to host an inner garden, even boasts the allocated space for a pond men had been digging until mere hours prior, when their toil ended.

"To grow lotus," he murmurs, nodding ahead where the pond is yet to glisten and crest, where its waters are short of rising. And he does not ask, Do you like it, what it can be? But his gaze flickers between Wei Ying's face and the home in desperate, hungry study.

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Once Lan Wangji steps close to him, he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s waist. He holds him there for a few precious moments before looking up at him with that grin still on his face. “We’ll turn this place into something warm and inviting for Sizhui and Liang. Maybe Jin Ling will see that we can treat Sizhui just as well as he could and inspire him to try harder to earn distinction before the end of their courtship.”

He lets go of Lan Zhan so he can cup both of his cheeks and tilt his face down to look him in the eye. “I love you, Lan Zhan. I love what this house will become.” He leans up and kisses his husband’s mouth. Short, sweet. There’s no overt heat in it, but he does spill his love into it.

“Let’s finish looking around. Oh, before I forget, do you think the carpenter would be open to building a small barn? It would be nice for Little Apple and the goat to have somewhere with a roof for when it rains.”

For Sizhui, he murmurs back mutely, because they both know the way of it: should anything occur to them — and any tragedy upon one would surely strike at both — it will be Sizhui who inherits, who must make his house and home. The child who must look after all his other siblings and his poor, defenceless uncle of the Wen. He must be afflicted with every privilege, alongside his burdens.

Held, then released — blessed, then teased. His chin sits fleetingly over the crown of Wei Ying's head, withdrawing to allow him more room to prance about like a drawling, incandescent firework, enchanting and untamed. Even as he answers, Lan Wangji draws them down the winding path of the main corridor to bypass the various nooks, pantries and crannies — all emptied, some prepared to host arsenal, other provisions — and investigate the kitchen: only the hearth and the start of the heating elements have been built already, but floor has been more tightly marked for where great tables must sit, alongside shelving and cutting posts.

Abandoned in one corner, a lone shelf is already half-stacked with fresh supplies brought from Lan Wangji's stops at various marketplaces, on the way back to Cloud Recesses: spices, some soft, some incendiary, all violently coloured.

"A barn has been commissioned, alongside a tower of pens. For rabbits, when they please." ...truly, Lan Wangji has been nothing if not extravagant. He feels the flush that nearly consumes his cheeks. "Father's home was more affluent, before his confinement."

On the way to the kitchen, Wei Wuxian takes the time to look around at every little detail. There’s plenty of room to showcase their wealth with their collection of possessions. Art, pottery, carvings, and any other trinkets they find or win on their travels. They’ll likely leave anything too dangerous they come across behind lock and key either in their home or in the Lan treasury.

The sight of the spice rack steals his attention and he approaches immediately to take a look at each of the jars. He’s not shy to take a whiff of the ground peppers and other things, one of which irritates his nose and makes him sneeze hard into his sleeve. He’d ducked his head down so he wouldn’t spill the spice with the force of his sneeze.

“When did you have time to buy all this?” He asks, impressed. Many of them are things he recognizes, but some are entirely new and ready to be explored. Technically, he’s probably eaten most of them at some point, but he doesn’t spend too much time in the kitchen. He sets the jar he’s holding down and turns to face Lan Wangji again. “I still owe you soup! I completely forgot.”

For a treacherous inhalation, his hand wonders where his robes, distinctly high-collared, hide the fading prints of wandered hands and purposeful claws, where he allowed an audacious, disgusting creature to claim its mark upon him. He does not speak, does not flinch, only shakes his head with absent-minded, cautious disinterest — with feigned enthusiasm.

"Unnecessary. The matter is ended." There is no urgency to revisit Lan Wangji's collapse into frail, undignified, helpless indulgence. Soup, care, spoiling, making a fool of himself — these are the disgusting marks of a man who ignores his responsibilities to his family. He cannot linger on his private hurts.

And so, he instead joins Wei Ying to take his lover's hand and position it on each of the precious spice pots and jars, showcasing them, one by one: "Chang'an. Caiyi. Yunmeng. Anyang. This, a payment gift from a nameless village in the Unclean Realm. Xidi."

Homes to markets, small or grand, enough to entertain the possibility of an exotic offering for Wei Ying's meals. Perhaps their children, too, might grow to share his appetites.

"I think of you, often." Said, for once, not amorously, not bittersweetly. Only with the quiet, plain civility of fact. "I enjoy bringing gifts from travels."

His eyes follow Lan Zhan’s hand to his throat. The bruising he’d seen there must have been far worse before Lan Zhan’s constitution and golden core had softened them overnight. The fact that it’s taken days for it to heal is a testament to the severity of the attack. And even if there were no marks, the sudden interest in settling affairs indicates how perilous the situation had been.

He leans close to Lan Zhan as they go through the spices one by one, letting his lover guide the pace and his hand. “Yunmeng, too? You’ve been collecting these for a while.” It feels nice to receive gifts like this just because his husband had been thinking of him while he was out on assignment or for travel. When it comes to that sort of thing, he usually only thinks to buy gifts when Lan Zhan urges him to think of their children and other family members while they’re in a market. Maybe if he buys something for Lan Zhan next time he’s alone in the market, it will make his husband feel nice, too.

“I think of you, too,” he says, tilting his head towards Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “All the time. I’m completely obsessed.” Which is one of the reasons he can’t help but send messages back and forth whenever they’re away from each other for more than a shi or two.

"Obsession is the root of feverish consumption." A learning, if not a rule outright. They cannot fall into the extreme of yearning, consumed by their desires. They need not become candles, lit at both ends. He dips in, mouth catching the top of Wei Ying's head as it passes by, whispering kisses. "We must remain disciplined."

And hearty and demure and strong. Paragons of virtue. Yes, and he winds an arm around his husband's waist, starting gently to steer him again — this time, back through the reception hall, never quite lingering until they've arrived at the welcome corridor. Here, then, by the door every righteous entrant must pass through, their wards bloom and burn.

"Here, if you wish to reinforce or adjust." His husband, a consummate tinkerer, cannot be expected to pass by and merely let be, not when he can perfect what others simply crafted. "Make your home safe."

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. I love you, but it’s not really an obsession,” he explains, smiling when he feels the tickle in his hair when he’s kissed. Sure, his mood is lower when they’re apart and he isn’t spending his time with other people or working on something to occupy his mind. Being bored has always been burdensome for him but it feels worse now, somehow. Probably because his mind slips into doubt or painful memories when unoccupied these day.

As soon as they approach the door, he lets out an unimpressed grown when he looks at the various wards. “No wonder there are so many requests for cultivators around here. Who put these together?” The question is rhetorical. He strips down over half of the wards and proceeds to fix the ones he can and crumple the ones he can’t. He can’t really blame someone for using standard marketplace warding talismans, but he can complain about putting two talismans next to each other that cancel out the effects!

“Once we have the baby’s room set up, I’ll put some extra wards in there,” he says with a little sigh. He means the sound enhancing talismans that will alert them if he starts crying when they’re in another room. Actually, he should think of another way to alert them that won’t disturb the rest of the house. Perhaps he could find a way to alter the messaging system he and Lan Zhan use to write each other but instead pass sound through them. But that’s neither here nor there and he has his hands full with the wards in front of him.

He bites his thumb and uses the blood to quickly scrawl symbols on a few blank talismans of his own design. Lan Zhan should recognize them since he’s put up a few in the jingshi. “This one will ward off anything undead,” he explains, “And this one will keep anyone from using scrying spells directed towards anyone in the house.”

He can't help it, the choked spell of laughter, pearlescent — only pulls it back at the last moment, gently domesticated into discipline because it does not do, does it? To ridicule those who have only attempted their perfunctory, lacklustre but undeniable best. Of course a master of the warding arts is unimpressed, perhaps to a point of exasperation, by chaotic efforts.

Far from Lan Wangji to remind Wei Ying that they have, after all, failed to complete this exercise with their own two hands and should therefore wisely abstain from criticism. Instead, he dips to kneel beside his husband, obediently only intervening to facilitate, to pass a brush or quickly remove a parchment piece from before Wei Ying's eyes, or offer a kerchief from his qiankun pouch at the very end, so that Wei Ying might rest and bind his bloodied hand.

"Yes, yes. Forgive our oversights. Negligent. Yes." Poor cultivators who, hastily, barely dashed in to perform the rites, unsupervised by a sulking Lan Qiren and a secluding Xichen. "You are pleased, now? No one will come steal you at night?"

He puts the finishing touches on the last talisman and then proceeds to display them in what might look to be a randomly chosen order to most people, but there’s a method to his madness. He takes the kerchief and wipes the blood off his finger. The flow is mostly stopped already, but he pushes down on the insignificant wound to stop the bleeding completely.

“I’ll have to deliver a charm to Wen Ning next time I see him so he can come to visit Sizhui,” he says, knowing that Wen Ning may also think to visit him, too. They used to be pretty close back in Yiling, but there always an awkwardness between them now as they both learn to navigate their friendship without the subservient elements of before.

“The only one who’ll be able to steal me is invited to do so any night he chooses,” he flirts and puts a hand on Lan Zhan’s forearm briefly as he looks around at the rest of the entrance that he’s missed entirely upon seeing the state of the talismans hanging there.

It strikes him, with distant satisfaction: Wei Ying does not request his permission to grace Wen Ning with a pass-key to their home. He does not hesitate, does not remotely consider. He decides, as a true master of the house — and it is Lan Wangji who has given him this authority, who has fostered his confidence. His smile languishes and blooms, deepening when Wei Ying touches him without cause or reason past the simple pleasure of passing contact.

"He may have to. He has not been offered a charm." Meaning, in other words, that Lan Wangji must struggle to make his own way inside their abode, perhaps stealing Wei Ying along the way. "Must prove his worth."

Belatedly, he lifts his arm to offer it out to Wei Ying, reassured that his husband may have exhausted the quiet energy that previously motivated him to flit around the house like a firefly. "You have finished?"

He could answer with the truth that Lan Zhan is not undead and would not need a charm to make his way through the wards he’d just improved. Instead, he slips his arm around Lan Zhan’s with a little smirk. “Sneak into our room tonight and give me a taste of the theft I’ll anticipate living here,” he says with mischief in his eyes. It’s been a while since they played around with dubious consent and it sounds delicious.

He nods affirmative that he’s finished with the tour of the house so far. His house where he can raise his family and make his own rules if he feels like it. Once A-Liang begins his rein of terror as a walking toddler, he probably will suggest a few rules.

To think the son of a servant who spent time living on the streets and in a cave would have such a grand house. Life is full of twists and turns and he hopes this particular turn will stay for a long time. Forever if he has any say in it.

“What do you want to do now, Lan Zhan?” He asks as they walk down the hall towards the exit. “We’ve still got some daylight left. Want to take a detour to look at the river?” It’s too cold to want to get in the water, but it’s such a pretty view. It’ll be even prettier with Lan Zhan at the banks.

He does not answer the plain, shameless and delightful provocation — sneak into our room, Wei Ying says, as if their hearth home at the jingshi, carefully shared with their youngest son and his nursemaid in a nearby quarter, is not also dutifully protected against assault, subterfuge and vicious crime. But he can play the part. Perhaps, on this night, they may ask the nursemaid to acquaint herself to her formal quarters in the main encampment of Cloud Recesses and leave the babe with them in his cradle, permitting their intimacy. This part of the arrangement will prove tenuous until the move to their new home has finalized.

For now, he takes Wei Ying's arm, uninvited, steering his husband towards the garden so that he might oversee the river's side he wishes close. The light is still golden, mellow, daunting. Wei Ying, inevitably is beautiful — so much so that Lan Wangji cannot help himself, steadying them in place and turning to set both hands into his lover's hair and unwind it from its ponytail, until soft tresses caress him.

He catches strands from each sides of Wei Ying's face, weaving it to bind in a half-tied, half-loose hairstyle that is impossibly, heart-breakingly familiar, corseted by Wei Ying's blood-red ribbon. The same, and yet changed: Wei Ying's hair is straighter now, tame where his first body's mane accepted neither comb, nor coaxing. He takes a step back to admire his work.

"You have a start until I count to five. After, if I catch you, I shall toss you in the river."

He lets Lan Wangji lead him towards the other side of the house. While they walk, he takes in the enormity of the house from the outside as well. He can imagine what the place will look like once they come in and make it their own. “We should set up a bench or a couple chairs in the garden, maybe with a little table so we can eat outside when the weather is nice,” he says as they approach their destination.

He blushes ever so slightly when he catches the way Lan Zhan is looking at him. It’s not a lusty look, but one of serene fondness, but it’s enough to stir his heart. His eyes drift closed when Lan Zhan takes down his hair and he expects a kiss that doesn’t follow. Instead, Lan Zhan restyles his hair to match the style he’d worn over the last few years of his first life. He waits until the styling is done before opening his eyes. Where he expects some syrupy words, instead is given a challenge.

“What? Only to 5?” He asks, buying an extra couple of moments while his brain establishes a route. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he chooses his direction - past Lan Zhan and around to the other side of the muddy future lotus pond. “What do I get if you can’t catch me?”

"Cheater," he calls out, yet fondly, but stills himself and does not begin the count even as Wei Ying takes unscrupulous advantage. The point, after all, is to signal he knows, not to interrupt or inhibit. He stretches out his limbs, assumes the quiet, rigid posture of a watchful predator.

"I shall catch you." Quiet, serene, certain. If not out of confidence for his own ability, then because they have yet to set a time for the enterprise. He has every chance of exhausting Wei Ying until the point of his surrender.

"I am tasked to intrude and steal the Yiling Patriarch this evening." As if it is not Wei Ying who gave the instruction, and who will also suffer the better part of his husband's enthusiasm. "Choose a penalty that will not intercede."

By way of commitment or time.

With Lan Zhan standing ready and communicating, he stays on his side of the muck. They should establish some parameters of their little game before Lan Zhan starts his counting. It also gives him a few more moments to take in his surroundings in a different way than he’d done before. Perhaps he should have looked around for potential escape routes on their tour, but he had no reason to!

While Lan Wangji stands with the presence of a tiger, Wei Wuxian stays as alert as a rabbit, watching for any sign of pursuit. Unlike a rabbit, he doesn’t have a little hole to hide in where Lan Zhan won’t be able to get him.

“You have until sundown,” he says, which will limit the timescale of the game and work in his favor. He doesn’t know if Lan Zhan will actually throw him into the river, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. It’s too damn cold to get drenched in even colder water. There’s no risk of getting sick because his of the recent qi transfer, but that doesn’t mean it would be a pleasant experience. “And if you throw me in the river, I’ll pull you in after me!”

"You will try," he agrees, because Wei Ying's finest efforts barely present him as a modest threat. He lacks nothing in strength, in cunning, or in sorcery — and everything, at present, in tolerance of the watery dangers that wait. Lan Wangji can overcome him.

For now, he understands the assignment, and, a gentleman before an honest competition, he nods once and affords Wei Ying the kindness or shuttering his eyes to bide his countdown. Better for Wei Ying's purposes that he does not see where his husband has fled, whether the gardens or the deep trenches being dug to secure the house's primitive water flows from the nearby river, or the half-risen stable. Perhaps a quarter, or the flower field beyond.

There is a great, beautiful land, and it pleases him to give it.

At present, he starts to murmur, "Five. Four..."

If he were still in his first body, he would have all the advantages he’d need to weasel his way out of getting plunged into the river, but he’s no longer the same challenge he’d been before. Despite their equal footing in a fight being one of the reasons Lan Zhan had fallen for him, it doesn’t seem like it’s a deal breaker that he no longer possesses the strength and stamina to be equals. It’s something that’s troubled him off and on. Surely, Lan Zhan won’t grow bored with him because he’s weaker just like he won’t judge him based on his new appearance - other than the constant desire for him to put on some weight.

As soon as Lan Zhan closes his eyes, he takes out one of the talismans he’d brought along to dampen sound - just in case they wanted to fool around while they were on their walk. He activates it on himself and leaps back across the pond and then upon the skeletal structure of the roof. When Lan Zhan gets to the count of ‘one’, he ducks down and hides.

If he can’t beat Lan Zhan fairly, maybe he can keep from being spotted until the sun finishes its descent.

His eyes shut, he thinks — as all warriors do — to cultivate his advantages, ears sharp and keen and heeding, attentive for any flicker of motion.

None erupts.

At first, he assumes his husband must have been paralyzed in place, considering his alternatives. A fair enough quandary. Only, yet no sound, Wei Ying is not to be heard, the countdown is nigh, perhaps he has been harmed —

And Lan Wangji startles, eyes bursting open as he nearly stumbles forward, hand clammy as he drags Bichen up and starts, teetering, to hunt. Through the gardens first, back to the house's walls, nearly fearing his husband — or his assailants? — might catch him unaware. Then, by the river's side, near pebbles. Perhaps, through The house —

He does not know why fear blooms so quickly in his heart. Paranoia that he dispels on a hundred counts of reason: there is nothing to beware. No one could infiltrate their grounds. They are fine. They are safe. Wei Ying merely withholds himself mutely, as the game urges.

And yet, coming out of the house again, he calls out as the sun is close to sinking, "Wei Ying...?"

He’s grinning to himself and thinking of how clever he is. He crawls a little closer to see the back of his husband as he finishes his count. He’s not sure why Lan Zhan’s unsheathing Bichen, but it’s not terribly surprising. They could add a little dueling to their game as a way to cultivate. He pulls back when Lan Zhan looks like he’s turning around to go back towards the house.

He tries to follow Lan Zhan’s trek by listening more than risking being seen, but every time he sees his husband’s back. And he laughs about it to himself thinking the only reason Lan Zhan has to be upset is the potential to lose the game.

That is, until he hears the quality of Lan Zhan’s voice. He sounds… off, somehow. He opens his mouth to speak, then remembers the talisman. He almost feels bad that he hasn’t given Lan Zhan a single chance to win. It’s no fun this way. So even though the sun’s not completely down yet, he traces a path on the talisman with one finger and deactivates it.

“I can’t believe you never checked the roof,” he calls out, waving his hand over his head. “I was on my stomach most of the time, so I wouldn’t have had a chance to stay dry.” He’s wary of Lan Zhan, though. This could be a trick to get him to let his guard down. There’s still enough time to grab him.

...and there. There he is, Lan Wangji's mouth a sudden, rare and grateful bloom, cleaved by a smile. He cannot help it, impossibly fond and infatuated, looking up where the silhouette of his lover could be anyone, perched on a rooftop, but is Wei Ying, galvanized.

He is beautiful like this, fearless and carefree, anchored only by playfulness and whim. Beautiful, unexpected and tragically too far, when Lan Wangji's heart feels so full. He finds himself stretching his arms out, palms outward, blatantly urging his lover to descend and making no effort to cover the distance between them.

He could, they both know: a mere leap could raise and propel him, and talismans could encircle and paralyze Wei Ying in place, securing Lan Wangji's victory. The finding is the worst of it; after, the game becomes one of endurance that Lan Wangji possesses in full.

"You win." This, with only heartbeats to spare, before the sun sinks. "Jump. I shall catch you. No river bath for Wei Ying."

Come hell or second life or high water, he will always catch this man.

He folds his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows when Lan Zhan extends his arms out towards him. He isn’t going to fall for it! Just because Lan Zhan looks so inviting and lovely doesn’t mean he’s going to get any closer to him while they’re still playing their game.

And he wonders why Lan Zhan looks so happy to see him. First, he’d heard the emotion coloring his name and now he can practically feel the relief and joy radiating from his husband. It’s not the reaction he’d anticipated and it throws him off.

Oh. By using the sound dampening talisman, had he somehow sent Lan Zhan into a panic at his sudden ‘disappearance’? He knows Lan Zhan will feel a spike of loss and dread waking to an empty bed, but he hadn’t thought that he could trigger the same sort of reaction tonight. He wants to go to him so badly and hold and kiss him, but there’s still a sliver of sun left in the sky.

But then his victory is announced. He grins back at Lan Zhan and doesn’t hesitate at all before throwing himself off the roof towards his husband’s waiting arms. He doesn’t use any qi to soften his fall because he trusts Lan Zhan to catch him. No matter how bad things get or how much his own mind twists his emotions up, Lan Zhan will always be there to catch him.

He lands easily in his husband’s arms and he squeezes him tightly, burying his face against the crook of his shoulder. “Now if you want me to get into the river, you’ll have no choice but to get in, too,” he says, even though Lan Zhan had said that there would be no river bath. “I’m not going to let go of you until we get back to the jingshi and maybe not even then!”

If he trusts me to catch him, I will trust him with my life.

He remembers thinking so once, before a tree, when Wei Ying's devotion was still fledgling and uncertain, when they had no name for the red string that bound their fates. When Lan Wangji could not depend on his lover's acceptance.

Now, he knows better: catches Wei Ying confidently, yet still has to take a step back to preserve his balance, a trembled exhalation marking his catch. But he does not waiver, both arms trapping Wei Ying's waist as he turns in a circle to rebalance, nuzzling the crook of his husband's neck and colliding their cheeks, as if to share his scent.

"Don't disappear." Not bittersweet, not heated. Only a quiet plea he now understands will be respected, because Wei Ying loves him well and true. In increments, the shivers he hadn't acknowledged his body was perpetuating begin to soften, to wane. He is here. Wei Ying is close.

Affection shared between them, he turns on his side, so they may both tip their heads and behold the sun sinking behind mountaintops in the crisp horizon. The view from their home, hereon. A pretty sight.

"You hid so well. What a fine predator. Must feed him a rich dinner, so he will allow me uneaten."

Laughter bubbles up his throat when he’s spun around, one leg bending up like a maiden enjoying her courtship. How he loves this man more than he thought he could ever love anyone. He presses a firm kiss to Lan Zhan’s shoulder, tilting his head towards his nuzzling husband so their cheeks have more content with each other. They were only separated for a matter of moments, but it’s left Lan Zhan trembling and scared. He feels a little bad about it, but he won’t let it get him down. Not when Lan Zhan is being so affectionate and loving.

“I’m here,” his voice is muffled against Lan Zhan’s skin now, his throat now that he’s turned his head a little. “I’m here and I won’t ever leave you. I love you so much, Lan Zhan.” He kisses Lan Wangji’s throat and cheek, only stopping when they’re turned around again, this time to look at the sunset.

He smiles at the sight and leans his head against his husband’s. “You were the predator, remember? I’m the clever rabbit who knew how to hide his tracks. But I might take a nibble when you fall asleep before me.”

"Rabbit," he repeats thoughtfully, passing his gaze over Wei Ying as if he anticipates some great revelation of ears and a perky, fluffy tail. Ah, the realm of possibilities. As if to congratulate that description, he brushes his cheek against Wei Ying's with more heated enthusiasm. Very nice.

"Too cold to alight here," he murmurs wistfully as the sun bleeds red, and the skies start to accept their dark. He entreats himself more than Wei Ying back to reason, certain that neither of them would enjoy the chills and hardships of a night spent curled up on a rigid floor. And yet, he is tempted. It will be a beautiful house, an enticing home. They could cherish their first night here, together.

"Soon," he decrees instead, kissing the top of Wei Ying's head before regretfully descending him back down on his own feet.

“I’ll be your rabbit,” he flirts, closing his eyes and smiling through the next burst of affection. His heart always feels full when Lan Zhan’s like this. He would easily agree to anything right now, including camping out in the unfinished house. He always has supplies for camping out on him, which may have something to do with needing to sleep outside without them a few times in his first life.

As soon as he’s on his feet again, he grabs Lan Zhan’s arm and hugs it to his chest. “Soon,” he agrees, “Unless you wanted to stay the night?” They really shouldn’t. It’s going to be cold and it might rain. They won’t get to say goodnight to the boys, either. But it’s still tempting in its potential for romance.

Then again, they already have soft plans for their everyday tonight. He’s looking forward to Hanguang-Jun taking advantage of the unsuspecting Yiling Patriarch. It’s a good thing the sun’s down so Lan Zhan wont notice how much he’s blushing just thinking about it.

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